Robin Cook - Godplayer

Cassi tried to object.

“Let’s not have a scene, please!” yelled Thomas. Then in a more controlled voice he said, “We’ll leave in an hour. You’re the one who looks terrible. Your hair is a mess. I hope you’re planning on doing something with it.”

“I will,” said Cassi. “Thomas, I don’t want us to fight. It terrifies me.”

“I’m not getting into this kind of discussion,” snapped Thomas. “Not now. Be ready in an hour.”

Hurrying into his study he went directly to the bathroom, mumbling under his breath about Cassi’s selfishness. He’d told her very specifically about the party and why it was important, but she’d conveniently forgotten because she was too tired! “Why do I have to put up with this,” he said, running a hand over his beard.

Getting out his shaving paraphernalia, Thomas washed and lathered his face. Cassi was becoming more than a source of irritation. She was becoming a burden. First her eye problems, then her preoccupation with the fact he took an occasional drug, and now her association with Seibert’s provocative paper.

Thomas began to shave with short, irritated strokes. It was beginning to feel as if everyone were against him, both at home and in the hospital. At work the key offender was George Sherman, who was constantly undermining him with all the supposed teaching bullshit. Just thinking about it filled Thomas with such frustration that he threw his razor into the shower with all the force he could muster. It ricocheted off the tiled walls with a clatter before coming to rest near the drain.

Leaving the razor where it was, Thomas got into the shower. The running water always tended to soothe him, and after he’d stood under the spray for a few minutes, he felt better. While he was drying, he heard the door to his study open. Expecting it was Cassi, he didn’t bother to look, but when he was done in the bathroom, he opened the door to find Patricia sitting in his armchair.

“Didn’t you hear me come in?” she asked.

“No,” said Thomas. It was easier to fib. He went to the cabinet below the bookshelves where he’d been keeping some of his clothes.

“I can remember when you used to take me to these hospital parties,” said Patricia plaintively.

“You’re welcome to come,” said Thomas.

“No. If you’d really wanted me you would have invited me rather than making me ask.”

Thomas thought it better not to respond. Whenever Patricia was in one of these “hurt” moods, it was safer to say nothing.

“Last night I saw the light come on in the study here, and I thought you’d come home. Instead I found Cassandra in here.”

“In my study?” demanded Thomas.

“She was right over there behind your desk.” Patricia pointed.

“What was she doing?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask her.” Patricia stood up with a self-satisfied expression. “I told you she would be trouble. But, oh no! You knew better.” She sauntered out of the room and closed the door gently behind her.

Thomas threw his clean clothes onto the sofa and went to his desk. Pulling out the drawer with his drugs, he was relieved to see the bottles of pills exactly as he’d left them behind the stationery.

Even so Cassi was driving him crazy. He’d warned her to stay away from his belongings. Thomas could feel himself begin to shake. Instinctively he reached into his cache of pills and extracted two: a Percodan for the headache he could feel behind his eyes and a Dexedrine to wake him up. If it was worth going to this party, he should at least be alert.

• • •

Cassi could sense a tremendous change for the worse in Thomas’s mood as they drove toward Manchester. She’d heard Patricia come into the house and guessed that she’d visited Thomas. It didn’t take too much imagination to figure out what she’d told him. Since Thomas had already been in poor humor, she couldn’t have chosen a worse time.

Cassi had made a real effort to look her best. After taking her evening insulin, which she’d upped because of sugar showing up in her urine, she’d bathed and washed her hair. Then she’d selected one of the dresses that Robert had suggested. It was a deep brown velvet with puffed sleeves and a tight bodice that gave her a charming medieval look.

Thomas said nothing about her appearance. In fact he said nothing at all. He drove the way he had coming from the hospital, recklessly and fast. She wished he had a close friend she could go to-someone who really cared for him, but in truth he didn’t have many friends at all. For a moment she was reminded of her last meeting with Colonel Bentworth. Then she caught her breath. Identifying with Maureen Kavenaugh was one thing, but comparing her husband to a borderline personality was ridiculous. Cassi turned her attention to the window to keep from thinking and tried to see through the moisture. It was a dark, forbidding night.

The Ballantines’ house fronted on the ocean, just like Thomas’s. But that was where the similarities ended. The Ballantines’ home was a large, stone mansion and had been in the family for a hundred years. In order to maintain the house, Dr. Ballantine had sold off some of the land to a developer, but since the original plot was so large, no other house could be seen from the main building. It gave the impression of being in the country.

As they got out of the car, Cassi noticed that Thomas had a slight tremor. His coordination seemed slightly off as they mounted the front steps. Oh God, what had he taken?

Thomas’s demeanor changed as soon as he joined the party. Cassi watched with amazement, although she knew how easily he could abandon an angry mood and become charming and animated. If only he would still expend some of that charm on her. Deciding it was safe to leave him, Cassi began to look for the food. Having given herself her evening insulin, she shouldn’t wait too long before eating. The dining room was to the right, and she made her way over to the arched entrance.

Thomas was pleased. As he’d expected, most of the hospital trustees and the deans of the medical school were at the party. He’d seen them over the shoulders of the small group of people he’d joined when first arriving. He was particularly interested in finding the chairman of the board. Picking up a fresh drink, he began to make his way through the crowd toward the men when Ballantine came over to him.

“Ah, there you are Thomas.” Ballantine had been drinking heavily, and the circles under his eyes were pronounced, giving him more the appearance of a Basset hound than usual. “Glad that you could make it.”

“Wonderful party,” said Thomas.

“You better believe it,” said Ballantine with a forceful wink. “Things are really happening at the old Boston Memorial. God, it’s exciting.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Thomas, backing up a step. Dr. Ballantine had a habit of spitting when he pronounced “Ts” after he’d had a few drinks.

Ballantine stepped closer. “I’d like to tell you, but I can’t,” he whispered. “But maybe soon, and I think you should join us. Have you given any thought to my offer of full professorship?”

Thomas felt his patience evaporate. He didn’t want to hear about joining the full-time staff. He had no idea what Ballantine was referring to when Ballantine said, “Things are really happening.” But Thomas didn’t like the sound of it. As far as he was concerned, any change in the status quo was worrisome. He suddenly recalled seeing Ballantine’s office light blazing at 2:00 A.M.

“What were you doing in your office so late last night?”

Ballantine’s happy face clouded. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curiosity,” said Thomas.

“That’s a strange question just coming outta the blue,” said Dr. Ballantine.